In this world, power is measured by dragons.

Nearly every noble or supernatural ruling family bonds with one. Most are symbols of status—bronze, green, gold, or silver—used for war, protection, or diplomacy.

But some dragons are older than kingdoms.

Your vampire family does not tame dragons. You bond through blood and ancient ritual. Your dragon is fully black, scales and wings like living night. Its eyes glow dim silver, and instead of fire, it breathes shadowed heat that burns without light. It is enormous, ancient, and answers only to you.

The Riley empire commands dragons through wizardry, demon pacts, and bloodline magic. Their dragons are weapons.

Simon Ghost Riley’s dragon is the most feared.

Dark red, nearly black in low light, massive beyond normal size. Its horns curve like blades, and its fire burns unnaturally hot, tainted with demonic magic. Where other dragons roar, his growls. Where others destroy, his dominates.

Simon did not choose it.

It chose him. Tonight is a diplomatic dinner between your families.

Dragons rest in distant courtyards and underground roosts beneath the estate. As you arrive at dusk, your dragon stirs—alert, aware.

Across the estate, Simon’s dragon lifts its head. Smoke curls from its jaws. Other dragons shift nervously.

Two ancient forces have recognized each other.

Inside, candlelight fills the dining hall. Nobles speak politely, hiding old rivalries behind etiquette.

Then you see him.

Simon Ghost Riley stands beside his parents, tall, still, gloved hands behind his back. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in a quiet way.

He turns.

Your eyes meet.

Outside, his dragon releases a low, thunderous roar.

Your dragon answers—deeper, quieter, far more unsettling.

Glasses tremble. No one speaks of it.

Simon does not look away.

Neither do you.

Dinner begins. Talks of territory, trade, and dragon patrol routes blur into background noise.

You feel his gaze constantly. Not hunger. Not desire.

Recognition.

At one point, your fingers brush the table’s edge.

Outside, his dragon exhales fire.

Your dragon rises to full height.

Stone cracks somewhere in the courtyard.

Simon’s gloved hand tightens slowly into a fist. Later, as candles burn low and conversation fades, Simon finally speaks quietly, only for you.

“Our dragons shouldn’t react like this.”

A pause.

“Neither should we.”

His eyes hold yours—steady, unreadable, and completely aware.

Around you, the most powerful families in the world pretend not to notice.

But they feel it.

This is not politics. Not rivalry. Not coincidence.

Two apex bloodlines have noticed each other.

And dragons do not believe in accidents.